


Whisky & Gunpowder

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, i actually have no idea how to tag this, mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: The first man Jensen Ackles ever fell in love with was Dean Winchester.





	Whisky & Gunpowder

**Author's Note:**

> writing exercise following a prompt on twitter.

This had to be a dream. Right? The last time it happened, technically, was in the show, and even then it was Jensen playing two Deans, and it's not like he was actually _seeing_ them. It was green screen and post editing. Not real. Not... this. 

But here Dean is - he is? - real as ever. And Jensen isn't stupid enough to think that he's looking at _himself_. He's staring Dean Winchester directly in the eyes from two feet away, taking in his slightly scrunched shoulders, the furrow of his brow, the tightness of his mouth. 

This isn't Jensen. 

This is Dean. 

The character that Jensen has poured every ounce of his own being into, the character he brought to life, the character that is the beginning to Jensen's end and blurs the lines between reality and fiction. 

Right here in front of him.

Dean is suspicious. Of course he is. He's staring down his mirror image, assessing the situation. Jensen knows he's thinking of holy water, salt, silver. Adams apple bobbing, Jensen lifts his hands in supplication, holding eye contact. "Dean Winchester." 

Dean tenses further.

"Easy," Jensen says softly. "Let's do the tests." 

The corners of Dean's eyes tighten and it's so fucking surreal, seeing him like this. It's not Jensen. It's _Dean_. Dean's tells and tics and mannerisms. Jensen's belly swoops when Dean gives a curt nod.

They're in Jensen's trailer. He glances around for a second and almost forgets that things like holy water and 100% silver knives aren't exactly things he's got on hand. 

"Here," Jensen says, holding out his hands, exposing the sensitive underside of his forearms. He knows Dean will have it covered. Always prepared.

Dean eyes him warily. But he steps forward, reaching inside of his jacket to pull out a flask, just like Jensen knew he would. He drizzles some water on Jensen's wrists, presses his blade to his inner elbow, and sprinkles salt into Jensen's palm. The whole time he doesn't physically touch Jensen with his own fingers. Jensen aches.

After passing the tests - because the supernatural isn't real in this world, right? Even though this situation is supernatural in its own right - Dean seems satisfied. He loses some of the tension in his body and then glances around the trailer.

"I've been in here before," Dean says, realization dawning on him. His gaze moves back towards Jensen, who is wearing lounge pants and a hoodie. His gaze sweeps over him critically, and Jensen feels his skin prickle in the wake. "Not to kill the moment, but last time I was face to face with myself a bunch of people died."

Jensen needs to play this carefully. This is actually Dean. _Really_ Dean. Tulpa'd into existence somehow, standing right in front of Jensen. Despite his strong stance there's a vulnerability in his gaze and Jensen does his best to stay relaxed, as he nods. 

"I know."

Dean's gaze narrows. He glances around again. "Well. You know who I am." His eyes rake down Jensen again. "Who are you?" 

"Jensen," Jensen replies. His hands are still raised slightly. If Dean feels cornered at any moment, he might get physical. 

More recognition. "The actor?"

Jensen quirks the corner of his lips. "Yeah. The one that plays you on the show." 

Dean raises his eyebrow, and then tension finally fully releases him as he hangs his head a little and rubs the back of his neck. "Well, shit. Far as I know no angry angels sent me here."

"What's the last thing you were doing?" Jensen asks. 

"Me n' Cas were-" Dean stops that train of thought, clearing his throat. "Uh. Y'know. Bunker. Case. Re...search." 

Jensen's stomach dances with butterflies. He knows Dean well enough to know what he prevented himself from saying. "Right," he nods. He sees the tension creeping back into Dean's frame. "Want a drink?"

"God, please," Dean says emphatically. 

Jensen chuckles a little and moves to the kitchenette to pour them both a few fingers of whisky. It's 11am, but Jensen's call time isn’t for a while. He leans against the little island while Dean takes his glass and sits at the table. It's quiet for a moment as Jen studies Dean's features. It's so... strange. The pull of Dean is undeniable. Jensen suddenly understands why people are so drawn to his character.

Jensen is easygoing, sometimes described as 'soft', he knows. He smiles easily, wears his expressions and emotions on his sleeve. Dean is closed off, but he's beautiful, and ain't that a thought. Jensen looking at an image of himself, a different side of himself, and feeling...attraction.

Dean stares into his whisky glass. Jensen knows that Dean is thrown off by being tossed into this alternate reality, but he also knows that Dean remembers the last time it happened, and he doesn't seem panicked about it. Considering that there aren't really many angels left in his world, he probably feels fairly safe in that regard, and is working through perhaps which witch he pissed off to get him booted. 

As if on cue, Dean leans back in his chair and groans, "Rowena." 

Jensen reaches up to rub his nose to cover his smile. "What did you do to piss her off this time?" 

"Pretty sure it was Sam," Dean grouses. "They're pretty hot n' cold."

Jensen blinks. "Rowena... and Sam?" 

Dean sends him a smirk and a wink, tipping back his whisky.

Apparently just because he's an actor on the show doesn't mean that he has full scope of what's going on. Wow. Staring down into his glass, Jensen bites his lip. "Well, then." He moves to sit across from Dean at the table, refilling their glasses.

"If it's Rowena she'll bring me back sooner or later," Dean says with a shrug, casual machismo as he drapes an arm over the back of his chair. "Sam'll bitch enough. Cas'll bitch enough."

Jensen nods. "Well, unfortunately we're stuck in here til' then." He can’t exactly let Dean wander out where other people can see him.

Dean sends Jensen a thoughtful look. Jensen catches it and Dean quickly cuts his gaze away, taking another sip of whisky. "So. Out here- you got... a family and stuff? Last time I came around Jer...emy? Jared? Was married." 

Jensen can't help but smile, his voice fond as he nods. "I have a wife. Three kids." Taking a shot in the dark, he brings his glass up to his lips as he says casually, "A boyfriend." 

Dean's eyes go from casually interested to surprised. "You- what?"

Jensen doesn't elaborate, because he knows Dean heard him right.

Dean nods slowly, and then brings his glass up, hovering it in front of his mouth as he thinks. After a moment, he says, "You Hollywood types are a different breed."

Jensen laughs. "I don't know if I'd classify us as 'Hollywood', but our situation is pretty unique."

Dean's clearly trying to wrap his head around the mechanics of that. Jensen watches him with interest; watches the man he's played for over a decade sift through his thoughts and absorb the information. 

Jensen stretches his leg under the table and presses his toe against the outside of Dean's boot.

Dean, ever perceptive, feels the touch through all those layers. His gaze whips up towards Jensen, and there's a hint of shocked coyness in his gaze. He's so out of place and yet in his element, faking it til' he makes it, and Jensen wants to see him lose that last bit of control. 

Playing a character with such repressed sexual urges can be... challenging, and not always in a good way. Hearing this Dean talk about things that don't happen in the script, though- Sam and Rowena, and Cas? 

Layers. 

These are the layers Jensen, as an actor, has been looking for.

This is the best chance he has to _really_ get inside Dean's head, to really learn what makes him tick so he can play him to the best of his ability. And, as Jensen sweeps his gaze over Dean, he's feeling less and less bad about the simmering arousal in his gut.

Dean tongues the inside of his cheek and Jensen tracks the movement. 

"You don't have to hide anything from me," Jensen says quietly. "I know you better than anyone." 

Dean's cheeks flush. His glass is empty. He fidgets.

Jensen leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. Dean's eyes drop to them, and the hairs raise in reply. Behind Dean's guarded gaze is that vulnerability and that curiosity, and Jensen’s heart aches for him. 

This is the first man he's ever fell in love with.

Jensen fell for Dean's courage. His loyalty. His quick wits, his humor, his big heart. Jensen fell for Dean's flaws, everything that made him so breakingly human. 

Jensen's first love is sitting across from him in the flesh, and he would be stupid to not do anything about it.

He gets up out of his chair. He doesn't move quickly or slowly, but he moves surely, allowing Dean to track his movements. When he's within reach he reaches down to tilt Dean's head up, counting the gold starbursts in his eyes, and then in one slow, fluid motion, he leans down to press their lips together.

Dean reacts immediately. He reaches up to grab at Jensen’s hoodie, the kiss deepening as his tongue swipes in. Jensen memorizes the soft plushness of his lips and the insistent nips and bites, and when Dean stands up to level the playing field Jensen presses him against the wall, hands on either side of his throat.

Dean's head tilts back, offering himself up. Kissing someone of his exact height and stature is familiar and foreign all at once and Jensen slips his knee between Dean's thighs, applying pressure exactly where he needs it. Dean lets out the softest, most beautiful noise, and Jensen immediately catalogues it.

He’ll examine this display of narcissism later. For now he's got the love of his life in his hands and on his lips and he reaches up to tug on Dean's hair, breaking the kiss to nip down his jaw. Dean trembles, fingers twisted in Jensen’s hoodie, hips pressing against his thigh.

"Fuck," Dean groans, rocking his hips again. 

"Let me take care of you," Jensen murmurs into Dean's ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

Dean nods.

Getting undressed is a blur. Falling onto the bed is a vignette of hands and kisses. Dean on his back, Jensen between his legs, they grind their bodies together. Touching Dean is a revelation. 

Grounding. 

Surreal. 

Kissing him is existential.

Jensen doesn't have everything he needs, but he can make do. Dean seems content to be swathed in attention and affection, the last of his barriers crumbling away when Jensen takes him in hand. He's unrestrained in his pleasure and Jensen commits every noise and expression to memory.

And Jensen knows Dean well enough to know that he feels safe. Maybe even safer than he's ever felt with a partner- maybe even safer than with Cas, Jensen's traitorous mind supplies. Jensen knows Dean more intimately than anyone- writers and characters alike.

They are one in the same.

Jensen traces the curve of Deans shoulders with his mouth, feels the flex of his stomach under his palms. Things he's felt on himself but things that feel so different when the sensation isn't attached to his own body. Dean's doing the same, his hands never lingering in one spot.

Jensen takes them both in hand, glancing down to see their precome-shiny cocks sliding together in his grasp. They move in tandem and read each other so well, there's never a break in pleasure or a pause to wonder what to do next. 

Dean's lips taste like whisky and his skin like gunpowder.

It's coordinated. Symbiotic. Jensen's never been with someone who could read him so well, but he's never had an opportunity to be with an extension of himself before. 

"Fuck," Dean suddenly breathes, and Jensen sees the arousal lighting his body up.

There's an answering thrum in Jensen's body and he covers Dean, blankets him as their hips move together. Dean's legs wrap around his waist, head tipping back, and Jensen is careful not to leave any marks as he puts his lips to the curve of his throat.

There's no frantic race to the end, no reaching grasp for release. They're riding the pleasure together, relishing the security of being in each other's embrace and intimacy, and then Jensen is levering himself up slightly to look down at Dean.

The eye contact makes Dean shoot immediately. His cock pulses and he cums so hard it ropes up his chest to his collarbones in hot splatters, his abs tensing and chest heaving as his pupils blow wide. 

That's it.

Jensen holds Dean's eyes as he orgasms, adding to the mess on Dean's skin. He rides it through with a few extra strokes to his cock and Dean's oversensitive one, and then sits back on his haunches to take in the full scene.

Dean's skin is flushed, freckles a stark contrast. The light hits the sheen of his sweat to highlight to curves, and he looks radiant. The humidity is keeping the cum sticky and wet, shiny where it pools. His nipples are hard, abs tense, cock resting against his pelvis as it softens.

This is the first man Jensen ever fell in love with. Dean's gaze is hooded, still on Jensen's face, and Jen leans down to start cleaning the cum off of his body, licking it up in slow, worshipful strokes. Dean's fingers gently card through his hair.

Cleaned as well as he can be via tongue bath, Dean looks beautiful. Jensen shifts to lie down next to him to catch his breath. 

"Your boyfriend," Dean starts, then stops. "Your wife..." 

Jensen hums. "Your boyfriend." 

Dean huffs a laugh. "S'a little ridiculous."

Jensen's lips quirk. They settle down and Jensen gathers Dean up in his embrace, holding him the way he knows he craves but never asks for: Dean's head tucked beneath his chin, legs entwined, arms around each other.

They fall asleep.

Jensen wakes up alone, fully dressed.

"Jen!" Comes Misha's voice from outside the trailer. He knocks and then enters, eyes falling where Jensen lies on the bed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were napping." 

Rubbing his eyes, Jensen sits up. He's clothed, clean, and... huh.

_Was_ it a dream?

"You really need to stop stealing clothes from the wardrobe department," Misha says as he picks up Jensen's trailer, like he always does every time he comes over. He pauses, holding up a coat and examining it. "Is this new?"

It's the coat Dean had been wearing.

Jensen scoots off the bed and stands to greet Misha properly, kissing his cheek and taking the carhartt jacket out of his hands. "Yeah- new today." He glances around. There are no glasses on the table. Chewing his lip, he then smiles at Misha. "I think I had a breakthrough with Dean."

Misha arches a brow in surprise. "Really?" He glances down to the coat, glances at the table that Jensen had been staring at thoughtfully, and then shrugs. "Well, let's go put it to use. Call is in ten minutes." 

"I'll catch up," Jensen says.

Misha pats Jen lightly on the butt and leaves. Once the door is shut Jensen brings the coat up to his face, inhaling deeply- gunsmoke and whisky assaults his senses and he grins to himself, chuckling softly. 

"Thanks, Rowena."

The buttons on the coat glow violet in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm preparing for [something](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes/status/1086018175043395584).  
> january 24th.  
> are you ready?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes).


End file.
